


Fetch

by notlucy



Series: The Brownstone in Brooklyn [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Domestic Kink, Hand Feeding, M/M, Multi, Non-Sexual Kink, POV Steve Rogers, Pet Play, Puppy Play, Top Steve Rogers, kink as therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 05:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11914065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notlucy/pseuds/notlucy
Summary: Steve's not one hundred percent sure he can give Bucky what he needs. Bucky decides he can annoy Steve into enjoying himself. So, the usual.





	Fetch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crockzilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crockzilla/gifts).



> Timeline-wise, this comes earlier than the other two stories in the series. Canon-compliance is all over the place. In my head, Civil War happened, and in this particular universe, Peggy was somehow involved. Then, through some Goodwill Towards Bucky (and probably some heavy world-saving on Steve's part), the Accords fell apart and their status as international fugitives isn't so much of an issue. 
> 
> (Basically it's the Whose Line of world building: everything's made up and the points don't matter.)

The dog was whining. That was new. Usually the dog was pretty content with tummy rubs and chest scratches and taking naps in the sunshine. So Steve glanced up from his book, turning his head to check in with Bucky and see what was going on.

Because that was the thing about the dog: it wasn’t actually a dog. It was Bucky, who had thrown him for a little bit of a loop with the petplay thing. And the ageplay thing. And a couple of other things that were helping him process his trauma, in theory. Which Steve got, he _totally_ got it, because he was a progressive guy who was stuck on Bucky and wanted what was best for him. He knew it was helping him, and Steve wanted to be helpful.

But. It was a lot to deal with when you got your boyfriend back from the dead and sometimes he wanted to put on a pair of fuzzy ears and hump your leg.

(Not really about the leg humping part, though, because for Bucky it wasn’t about sex. They weren’t having sex at all, as a matter of fact, because Bucky was pretty much one hundred percent sure about not being ready for that. But he was working up to it, he insisted.) 

They’d tried the puppy thing a couple of times with all three of them, and it had been fine, but Peggy had kind of taken the lead, so Steve hadn’t had to do very much. She’d taken to it better than Steve had, though, because she was just kind of great at adapting to different situations. Even if she didn’t get it, she could figure it out, and in those moments Steve definitely wished he were more of a super secret agent than a super soldier. He’d been a lousy actor, and no matter how many times he’d socked Adolf Hitler in the jaw, he hadn’t ever quite gotten the hang of falling into the role he was supposed to be playing.

Truthfully, it was pretty cute when Bucky butted up against Steve’s leg for attention. Steve thought it was adorable, in fact, he just had a hard time getting out of his brain enough to enjoy it fully. So he’d set out to fix the problem by overthinking it. That always worked out well. In the interest of over thinking, he had spent a lot of time on the Internet, on his own, doing research. Some of the pictures were interesting. And a little intimidating. But Bucky hadn’t been all that into the idea of leather hoods or tails or paws or any of the more traditional elements of pet play. He seemed to be content to get into his puppy-headspace in sweatpants and a t-shirt, the ears on his head being the only real concession to his state of mind. (Oh, and he didn’t want to wear his arm when he was playing, but offered no explanations for exactly why. Steve wasn’t a therapist, but if he _had_ to guess, he’d figure it had something to do with the fact that the arm T’Challa had designed for Bucky was extra nice, lightweight and carefully hand-crafted. And Bucky didn’t always think he deserved nice things.)

The overthinking (shockingly) hadn’t actually helped. He still worried that he wasn’t doing it right, or was somehow letting Bucky down, which led to him not being able to fully lose himself in a scene and so he’d started internally freaking out a little bit every time the ears went on. It went on that way, with Peggy picking up the slack and Bucky never complaining.

Today had been the first time, though, that Bucky had come out of his room with his ears on when Peggy wasn’t home, his attention focused solely on Steve. So Steve had spent the past twenty minutes half-aware of whatever Bucky was doing and half-not-really-focusing on his book, instead choosing to have an internal total freakout while keeping up a very stoic outer front.

But now, the dog was whining.

“What’s up, Buck?” Steve asked, trying to keep his voice light as he closed his book and leaned forward on the couch. Bucky was sitting up on his knees, his head cocked and turned towards the loveseat. He let out another little noise of discontent as he leaned over, bracing himself with his arm and attempting to shove his face under the furniture. Which was both really fucking funny and really cute. 

“Uh,” Steve couldn’t help laughing. “Is there something under there?” He got to his feet, walking over to crouch down and look. Sure enough, there was a toy under the loveseat - one of the toys Bucky had bought for himself, online, which was pulled out only for these particular occasions. “I’ll get it, buddy” Steve offered, reaching under the couch to pull the rubber bone out. Bucky totally could have gotten it, but he got the sense that Bucky’s ability to get his own toy wasn’t the point.

Bucky seemed pleased, and Steve nodded as he went back to sit down, picking his book up. Approximately thirty seconds later, another whine. Bucky had definitely knocked the toy under the loveseat again. Dutifully, Steve closed the book and stood up, feeling slightly ridiculous as he went to retrieve the toy. Again. 

“Be more careful, huh, pal?” he said that time, kissing Bucky’s forehead (and yeah, he might not have kissed a dog like that, but _maybe he would have_ ) as he gave him the toy back and returned to the couch. 

Steve made it three whole pages into his book before the whining started up again in earnest. So he got up. He fetched. He sat. He fetched again. He sat. He fetched again. He sat. He fetched. Sat. Fetched. Sat. Fetched. Sat.

Bucky whined. 

“Bucky!” He exclaimed, and of course the dog didn’t understand. He just wanted his toy. So he fixed Steve with an inquisitive stare, and Steve swore that if he’d had a tail it would have been thumping on the ground. “I’m serious, this is the last time,” he said, moving over to pull the toy out from its hiding place and place it in Bucky’s waiting mouth. “Not kidding.”

It was an idle threat and he knew it, but he did try to ignore the whine the next time it came. Even when said whine got more insistent, and Bucky once again made a pathetic attempt to get his head entirely under the couch (which, again, hilarious). “No way, pal,” Steve informed him. “I said that was the last time. You lost it, so it’s gone.” 

Bucky looked up at him mournfully, huffing a sigh and crawling towards him, resting his chin on Steve’s knee and looking up with some extremely doleful eyes. (And that was just not _fair_ because real dogs didn’t understand cause and effect and Bucky was being a little shit.) 

“Yeah, no,” Steve replied. “You’re gonna forget about it in two minutes anyway and want to do something else, pup.” Because a real dog would definitely forget about the stupid toy, so Steve was only playing fair. (He also definitely noticed the way Bucky’s eyes lit up, just a little, when Steve called him ‘pup’ instead of ‘pal’, so that was interesting.)

Reaching out, Steve touched Bucky’s cheek, smiling a little as Bucky leaned into the touch, nuzzling against Steve’s fingers. “Hey,” he said, smiling a little bit as he thought of something that be a decent distraction. “You want a treat?” 

Apparently Bucky really fucking did, all thoughts of the toy forgotten as he pulled back from Steve’s lap and headed for the kitchen, remarkably graceful on one arm and two knees (Bucky’s outfit did include a pair of black knee pads because they had hardwood floors and Steve was the masochist in the relationship, thank you very much). 

Steve’s mouth twitched, and he took his time getting up, finding it easier and easier to play along as Bucky put him through his paces. “Huh,” he said, musing out loud as he walked towards the kitchen. “What should I get you, boy?”

Bucky had positioned himself by the cabinets that held the sweet stuff, because their household tended to hoard a fair bit of food, which wasn’t that surprising considering all three of them had lived through a depression and rationing. “Interesting choice,” Steve said with a smirk. “Though I was thinking maybe...some healthy treats. Do you want something healthy, buddy? Carrots? Celery?” 

Bucky emphatically did not want that, surprising Steve with a short bark of protest. That was new. Bucky wasn’t usually terribly vocal when he was the dog, and trying something new around Steve likely meant that he was comfortable. Which meant that Steve was doing his job. Which probably meant that Steve was also comfortable. Which, Steve was coming to realize, he kind of was. This was fun, and he was beginning to see why Peggy had gotten such a kick out of it. 

“So not something healthy,” he smiled. “What, chocolate? You want chocolate? I’m pretty sure chocolate’s bad for dogs…” He watched Bucky’s eyes narrow, which was not very dog-like, but was instead a very Bucky-ish reaction to Steve being an asshole. His response was to actually growl, which made Steve laugh again. “Yeah, you’re real tough, pal. I guess I can make an exception, just this once.” 

He crossed to the cabinet, selecting a bag of chocolate candies that Peggy’d had sent over from England, since she insisted that the quality of American chocolate in the 21st century was “appalling” and that British chocolate was infinitely superior. “Come on, Buck, I won’t tell Peggy we ate on the couch if you don’t.” 

(She would know anyway, somehow, and probably punish Steve for it. Which was half the reason they had rules in the first place.) 

He settled back on the sofa, and Bucky made his way over, clambering up beside him and resting his head in Steve’s lap, looking up at him expectantly. “Yeah, hang on a second, let me get them open,” he replied, ripping a hole in the bag and pouring a couple of the multi-colored candies onto his palm. 

Bucky, ever the little shit, nipped at Steve’s fingers as he offered him the first treat. “Hey!” Steve laughed. “Gentle, please. Try it again.” So Bucky did, this time taking the candy he was offered with minimal nipping, chewing and swallowing happily before looking imploringly at Steve for another. Because Bucky had the biggest sweet tooth in the universe, regardless of the headspace he was inhabiting.

It was nice, actually, hand feeding him like that. Steve ate as much as Bucky did, teasing him with the candy and watching him as he relaxed, pliant and happy and goofy in a way that he didn’t always allow himself to be when he was, well, himself. They finished the candy eventually, and Steve shook the empty bag to show Bucky there was no more to be had. “All finished,” he informed him, and Bucky huffed a sigh, butting his head into Steve’s stomach insistently until Steve started scratching the back of his neck. It didn’t take long for Bucky to doze off, his face still pressed up against the soft material of Steve’s shirt. Steve picked up his book again, though he was more focused on rubbing Bucky’s back and shoulder as he slept than on the novel.

Bucky slept for about an hour, twitching into awareness with a jerk as he sat up and looked around, his gaze wild. It broke Steve’s heart to know that Bucky couldn’t just wake up easy anymore. He always launched himself into wakefulness, haunted and ready for the next attack. He also, in that moment, didn’t appear to be the dog anymore, pushing the ears off his head as he ran his hand through his tangled hair. After a moment he glanced over at Steve, a hesitant smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Hi…how long was I out?”

“Hey,” Steve replied. “Maybe an hour?” 

“Oh,” he nodded. “Awesome. I uh...thanks.” 

“Sure,” he shrugged, putting his book on the coffee table again and leaning over to wrap Bucky up in a hug, kissing his cheek and squeezing him lightly. “You good?” 

Bucky nodded, half-hugging Steve back, though he was still a bit tense. “Yeah, I’m...that was good. You were um…” He shrugged, and smiled a little bit. “It was like you got a kick out of it, too?” 

“I did,” Steve said, shrugging a little. “I...I know it’s taking me longer than...I know I screw up sometimes.” 

Bucky worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a minute, obviously thinking through his response. “I’m not stupid,” he said eventually. “I know I’m asking for a lot. And...I appreciate that you’re trying. For me.” Steve smiled at that, kissing his cheek again, which was apparently too much sweetness for Bucky, as he started to squirm out of the embrace. “Ugh, let’s ease up on the soppy stuff, Stevie. I’m gonna go put my stuff away.” 

“You want some help?” Steve offered, reluctantly releasing Bucky from his arms before standing up and stretching said arms above his head.

“Sure,” Bucky agreed with a nod, looking up at him and smirking. “You’re off the hook, though, jerk. I’ll get the toy myself.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments the way Bucky loves chocolate. I'm also open to suggestions for this 'verse.


End file.
